


Great Expectations

by MercyBraavos



Category: Psych
Genre: Aftercare, Blindfolds, Fluff, Handcuffs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Slash, Smut, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 03:29:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8874052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercyBraavos/pseuds/MercyBraavos
Summary: Lassiter learns to stop having expectations.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For Cat, who knows why.

After four years of working with the man (to include three years of wanting him, four months of quietly pursuing him and eight months of fucking him,) Lassiter has learned that when it comes to Shawn, expectations are an exercise in futility.

That’s not to say that Lassiter doesn’t _have_ expectations.

He expects Shawn to humiliate him in public, to make sexually charged comments in front of his colleagues, to thrash and flail – or dazzle and stretch as the case may be – and generally draw attention to himself while displaying an infuriating amount of case-solving brilliance.

Typically _those_ expectations are met and met with gusto.

But now… but _now_ in this still relatively new period of their… association (Lassiter is self-aware enough to realize he is avoiding using the word relationship even in his own head) Shawn has become even more unpredictable.

He’d expected Shawn to be confident, maybe even arrogant the first time they’d had sex. Instead, Shawn had been hesitant and unsure, had touched Lassiter has though he was something _precious_ ; something to be treated with care.

He’d expected Shawn to go overboard with the PDA and out their association ( _relationship_ ) the first chance he got. Instead, Shawn had been considerate; asking how Lassiter wanted to proceed and respecting his desire to keep things to themselves. For now anyway.

He’d expected Shawn to be casual and dismissive; showing up for sex when he wanted it and leaving once they were done. Instead, Shawn liked to surprise him with dinner, seduce him halfway through a movie and wake up in his arms the next morning.

He’d expected snarky-faux-psychic-Shawn. Instead, Lassiter was becoming increasingly certain he was getting relationship-Shawn.

This is why when he pulls into his driveway to see that his house is empty and dark Lassiter isn’t surprised.

He’s _disappointed_.

Which in and of itself is unexpected. He’s grown used to Shawn’s company. He’s adapted to coming home to the man lounging on his couch or moving fluidly through his kitchen or (on one memorable occasion) meeting him at the door wearing nothing but a smile.

When the hell had Shawn Spencer become his goddamn _boyfriend_?

Looking up at the house, Lassiter feels the corners of his mouth pulling into a frown. It had been a long afternoon at the end of a long day at the end of an even longer week and he’d been hoping – not expecting, Christ no – to spend the night with Shawn: take-out and a campy movie before fucking each other senseless and falling asleep tangled together.

Thrusting into Shawn’s tight but pliant body was the most effective form of stress relief Lassiter had _ever_ experienced and, judging by Shawn’s tendency to melt into a boneless puddle post-orgasm, Lassiter was sure the feeling was mutual.

Keys in hand, he considers getting right back in the car and heading to Tom Blair’s. If he can’t drown his sorrows in Shawn then he’ll fucking drown them in whiskey. But, he has whiskey in the house and the house is closer. Convenience wins out and he trudges into his annoyingly empty house. Of course, the second he closes and locks the door behind him it becomes evident that his house is not, in fact, empty.

“You’re late,” a voice growls from behind him and a hand catches his wrist, pulls it away from the still-lowered light switch and pins it to the door. A shiver that has nothing to do with the chill of the wood runs down his spine.

He knows that voice.

“Shawn, what the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?!”

Lassiter tries to pull away, but Shawn’s grip is surprisingly strong. After a few seconds of silence, Shawn presses against him, pinning him between Shawn’s chest and the door and _fuck_ if Shawn’s not already aroused. Lassiter can feel the hot, hard line of him against his hip.

There’s warm breath on his skin and a sharp nip at his earlobe and then, “Did I say you were allowed to speak, Detective?”

Oh.

_Oh._

Slowly and deliberately, Lassiter shakes his head ‘no’. It’s dark enough in the room that Shawn might not be able to see the motion, but he’ll feel it and take Lassiter’s silence as the consent that it is.

“Do you remember your safeword?” Shawn murmurs, breaking out of the scene long enough to make sure they’re on the same page.

“Yes,” he whispers in reply. His safeword is actually two words, but this doesn’t seem like the time or place to worry about semantics. Not with Shawn mouthing at the back of his neck while his talented fingers are teasing Lassiter’s nipples into firm nubs underneath _way_ too many layers of clothing.

“Good,” Shawn says with affection and then the heat of him is gone. Before Lassiter can consider protesting, the growl in the darkness is back. “Bed. Naked. Eyes closed. You have three minutes.”

Lassiter turns around slowly, regarding Shawn in the dim room. Enough light is filtering in from the streetlamps that he can see Shawn smirking. But he can also see desire in the other man’s eyes, those blue-green-hazel eyes that – clichés be damned – haunt his fucking dreams.

Locking his gaze on those eyes, Lassiter affects what he hopes is a taunting smile before shrugging off his jacket and sliding his holster down and off. With deliberate slowness, he lays both items across the accent table near the door before adding his badge and handcuffs.

He toys with the handcuffs for a moment, raising his eyebrows at Shawn and issuing a silent challenge. He likes this, testing Shawn’s control, his resolve. He likes pushing the submissive envelope to see how far is too far. He likes the idea of being able to throw Shawn off balance.

Really, he should know better at this point.

Shawn’s smirk deepens impossibly as he reaches into his front pocket. He withdraws a gleaming pair of cuffs and fucking _twirls_ one steel circle around his finger.

“Two minutes.”

Lassiter does not run. He does _not_.

He does, however, move swiftly to his bedroom while loosening his tie and popping the small buttons on his shirt cuffs.  By the time he rounds the corner into the room – which is bathed in warm light from a single lamp in the corner – his shirt and tie are tossed over his shoulder and his pants are undone and sliding precariously down his narrow hips.

The hallway behind him is silent. Shawn hasn’t followed him yet, so Lassiter takes advantage of the momentary solitude to perform the decidedly un-sexy task of toeing off his shoes and socks before kicking his pants and boxers off and into the corner. After dropping his shirt and tie on the dresser, he clambers up onto the bed but in a calculated moment of defiance does _not_ close his eyes.

Minutes tick by, more than two, and then Shawn appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame and looking at him with undisguised hunger. Lassiter feels his cock actually twitch against his belly before a pearl of precome beads at the tip and rolls down the head.

Shawn’s eyes track the motion of the fluid and the tip of his tongue peeks out, tracing his plush bottom lip. “Funny,” he says, his voice wrecked and rough, “I thought I said ‘eyes closed’.”

Lassiter, acquiescing at least to the fact that he hasn’t been given permission to speak, blinks slowly, smiling, but says nothing.

Shawn hums his displeasure before lifting Lassiter’s discarded tie from the top of the dresser and running the blue silk through his fingers. Lassiter knows what Shawn is going to do before he does it.

“If you won’t close your eyes,” Shawn murmurs, crawling onto the bed, “then I’ll have to take them from you, won’t I?”

Lassiter can’t help the moan that escapes his lips and the last thing he sees before he’s blindfolded is Shawn’s smile. That bright, genuine smile that makes Lassiter fall just a little bit more in love.

OK, he’ll think about that revelation later.

The bed dips as Shawn gets up and without the use of his eyes, Lassiter leans on his sense of hearing, pleased when he hears the distinct sound of clothes being removed. A small _clink_ of metal is his only warning before cool steel encircles his wrist and his arm is raised above his head.

Without having to be asked, Lassiter lifts the other arm and hears Shawn thread the cuffs through the slats of the headboard before securing the other cuff. Bound, blindfolded, hard and naked; Lassiter is completely and utterly at Shawn’s mercy and he fucking _loves_ it.

He bites back a gasp at the feeling of warm, bare skin as Shawn straddles him and leans down to capture his lips. It’s a brief kiss, too brief and Lassiter unabashedly chases Shawn’s mouth as he pulls away. His blatant want draws a chuckle out of the other man, but Lassiter is too far gone to be embarrassed.

Especially when Shawn’s mouth latches onto his pulse point, sucking a bruise into the tender flesh. The mouth moves up, leaving a wet trail to Lassiter’s ear where Shawn’s words are whispered into his skin like a prayer.

“I wish you could see yourself like I do, Lassie. So flushed and hard for me.” His hand trails down between them, stopping to roll a nipple to the point of pain, and thumbs over the head of Lassiter’s cock, gathering up the moisture now rolling steadily down its length. “So fucking _wet_ for me.”

Lassiter reaches for him, wanting to touch the naked skin he can feel against him, only to be caught painfully by the cuffs around his wrists. He whines and arches up, long past caring about how desperate and needy it made him look.

Shawn laughs darkly and runs his tongue over the mark he’s left on Lassiter’s throat. “So eager for me,” he whispers and Lassiter holds back another gasp. “Look how good you’re being. So still and quiet.” He slides down and latches onto a nipple, sucking hard before pulling off and blowing cool air over the damp skin. “Such a good boy for me,” he says before giving the other nipple equal treatment. “Good boys are rewarded aren’t they?” he asks and when Lassiter doesn’t answer adds, “you may speak.”

“Yes,” he gasps immediately. “Yes, please, please.”

“Please what?” Shawn teases, kissing his way across Lassiter’s left hipbone.

“I want your mouth,” he manages, straining against the restraints around his wrists.

“You have my mouth,” Shawn replies cheekily, biting him for good measure. “Is there somewhere… specific you’d like me to put it?”

He doesn’t want to break, doesn’t want to give in. He’s not ashamed of asking for what he wants. Not two weeks ago he’d knelt on this very bed, ass in the air, and all but begged Shawn to lick him open. Which Shawn had done. For twenty solid minutes. By the time Shawn pushed in, Lassiter had been so close he’d come, untouched, all over his favorite sheets. He hadn’t even had time to be embarrassed since Shawn had come seconds later, gripping him so hard that he’d had finger-shaped bruises for a week.

So, no, Lassiter has no problem asking for what he wants. What he _does_ have a problem with is giving in so easily. He doesn’t mind giving up control every now and again. He wouldn’t be blindfolded and handcuffed to the bed if he didn’t know he could trust Shawn not to let him drop, but he wants to make Shawn _earn_ his submission.

So, he says nothing and Shawn disappears, rolling away, his weight leaving the bed. Forgetting himself again, Lassiter reaches out and the handcuffs rattle against the headboard.

To his left, Shawn laughs, “all you have to do is ask, Lassie.”

Oh, fuck it.

“Put your mouth on me, Shawn,” he begs, breathless. “I want your mouth on my dick. I want you to suck me off.” He strains up in the direction of Shawn’s voice, ready to plead for what he wants, what he _needs_ when he feels wet heat envelop his erection and Shawn’s talented tongue swirling over the head, drinking in the evidence of Lassiter’s need.

Shawn must like what he feels and tastes if the vibrations from his pleased humming is any indication. Over his own moaning and the obscene sound of Shawn’s mouth on his cock, Lassiter hears something else. Rhythmic, slick and familiar.

“Shawn,” he breathes, “are you… are you?”

“Mmh hmm,” Shawn hums in the affirmative and the slick sounds continue, getting louder and faster and Shawn is moaning now. Lassiter can hear and feel every single filthy sound he makes and it goes on and on and on until Lassiter _screams_ out that he’s close.

As quickly as it swallowed him down, Shawn’s mouth is gone; replaced by his hand at the base of Lassiter’s dick, squeezing firmly to stave off the impending orgasm. Lassiter forces himself to breathe and pull himself away from the edge.

He hears the crinkle of foil and then latex being smoothed down his erection, followed by the cool slide of Shawn’s hand, slick with lube. Seconds later, the bed dips as Shawn crawls over him and presses down, rubbing the head of Lassiter’s erection against himself where he’s wet and open.

“Shawn, please.”

He expects Shawn to make him beg again, but as usual Shawn surprises him and pushes back, sliding down onto Lassiter’s cock until he’s fully seated. He prepared himself well and he feels perfect: tight and hot and willing and _perfect_.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever called me ‘perfect’ before,” Shawn muses from above him and Lassiter did not realize he’d said that out loud.

“Shawn,” he blurts out suddenly, “let me touch you. Please let me touch you.”

“No, Lassie,” Shawn admonishes, rocking gently down, hands braced on Lassiter’s chest, fingertips scratching through the hair there.

“Then at least let me _see_ you,” Lassiter knows he’s begging, knows he sounds devastated and desperate and he has exactly zero fucks left to give. “Please let me see, let me see, let me see, let me see…” Shawn is rocking harder now, lifting up and almost off on every stroke and Lassiter feels himself spiraling away from anything even remotely resembling coherency.

Suddenly, the blindfold is gone from his eyes and Lassiter blinks, adjusting and looks up. Above him, Shawn is flushed and hard, his skin tan and golden and glistening. His head is thrown back in pleasure, one hand gripping Lassiter’s hip while the other fists his own cock furiously. He is impossibly beautiful.

“I’m going to come,” he whispers, looking down and meeting Lassiter’s gaze. “Come with me, Lassie. Come with me.” It’s a demand, not a request but either way, Lassiter can’t deny Shawn anything. Arching up, he meets Shawn thrust for thrust and when Shawn cries out and comes, hot and wet on Lassiter’s chest and belly, he has no choice but to follow him over the edge.

Shawn’s name is on his lips as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over him. His vision whites out and for a while he floats.

When he comes back to himself, his belly is clean and the condom gone from his softened dick. His freed wrists are in Shawn’s hands and he’s rubbing them with a pale green, clean smelling cream. Shawn is still naked, his face calm and focused.

“Aloe,” he says, answering Lassiter’s unasked question. “I should’ve padded the cuffs. I’m sorry.”

“S’ok,” Lassiter manages to say. His throat is very dry. “Doesn’t hurt.”

Shawn frowns at his wrists, turning them gently before pressing a kiss into each of Lassiter’s palms. After wiping his hands on his stomach he grabs a glass of water – that wasn’t there before – from the nightstand and holds it to Lassiter’s lips. Lassiter drinks greedily, the cool liquid soothing his throat. He pulls back, breathing deeply and then nods at Shawn who brings the glass back so Lassiter can drink the rest.

“Hungry?” Shawn asks, stroking gentle fingers across his cheek.

“Sleepy,” Lassiter responds.

Grinning, Shawn slides into bed and nudges Lassiter onto his side before spooning up behind up and tangling their legs together. “Nap now,” he says, between soft kisses to the back of Lassiter’s neck and across his shoulders, “food later.”

Lassiter hums something that he hopes sounds like an agreement and when Shawn’s arms come around him, he laces their fingers together. His last thought before sleep claims him is that it’s not so scary to love Shawn.

Especially not when Shawn kisses him awake a few hours later and says it first.

**Author's Note:**

> For those who are curious, in my little world, Lassiter's safeword (or words) is 'gun-control.' Because of course it is.


End file.
